Remember Me
by RumpelstiltskinDearie
Summary: A Faramir and Boromir oneshot. Rated T for violence.


**Remember Me  
by Gwin Gold**

-X-X-X-

_"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom. A place of light, and beauty, and music. And so it shall be once more. Let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands. This city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed... for Gondor!"_

Later, Faramir approached his older brother, identical smiles on both their faces. They embraced. "Good speech. Nice and short," Faramir commented, grinning.

"Leaves more time for drinking!" The two of them shared a laugh. "Break out the ale!" Boromir called. "These men are thirsty.

Boromir and Faramir each took long drinks of their ale, and Boromir looked back at Faramir. "Remember today, little brother. Today... life is good."

Alas, the moment was broken. Faramir stared at a point beyond Boromir's shoulders, and the eldest frowned. "What?"

"He's here." Faramir averted his gaze, retreating a step or two.

Boromir sighed. "One moment of peace. Can he not give us that?" Nevertheless, he turned and allowed his father to embrace him. "Father!"

"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handed," Denethor said, studying his first-born son.

"They exaggerate. The victory belongs to Faramir also," Boromir returned, managing to keep a lighthearted expression on his face.

"But for Faramir, this city would still be standing. Were you not entrusted to protect it?" Denethor demanded, glowering at Faramir.

"I would have done," Faramir said, trying not to let a silent plea for understanding creep into his voice. "But our numbers were too few."

"Oh, too few. You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim. Always you cast a poor reflection on me."

Those words were as a dagger to Faramir's heart. "That is not my intention."

Boromir refused to listen to his father's cruelty any longer. "You give him no credit, and yet he tries to do your will." Turning, Boromir stormed away. Denethor followed him.

Boromir, hearing his father's footsteps, whirled around to face him. "He loves you, Father!"

Denethor glared at him. "Do not trouble me with Faramir. I know his uses, and they are few." Boromir's jaw clenched as he struggled to keep himself in check. "We have more urgent things to speak of. Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He will not say why, but I have guessed its purpose. It is rumored that the weapon of the enemy has been found."

A flash of a nightmare returned to Boromir, and his breath caught in his throat. "The One Ring... Isildur's Bane."

"It has fallen into the hands of the Elves. Everyone will try to claim it. Men, Dwarves, Wizards. We cannot let that happen. This thing must come to Gondor," Denethor hissed.

Boromir's breathing continued to quicken, his mind racing. "Gondor..." he whispered.

"It's dangerous, I know," Denethor continued, leaning in close to Boromir. "Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser men. But you... you are strong. And our need is great. It is our blood which is being spilled, our people who are dying. Sauron is biding his time. He's massing fresh armies. He will return. And when he does, we will be powerless to stop him. You must go. Bring me back this mighty gift."

Boromir stared at his father in utter disbelief. "No. My place is here with my people. Not in Rivendell!" He turned around and started back into the crowds of Gondorian warriors.

"Would you deny your own father?" Denethor snapped, hurrying after Boromir.

Faramir stepped forward. "If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead."

Boromir flinched, lowering his eyes. He knew this could only end in sorrow.

"You?" Denethor sounded incredulous. "Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to show his quality. I think not. I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me."

*8*8*

Boromir sat upon his horse, gazing at the pennant of Gondor. It was caught high in the breeze, the White Tree emblazoned in gold on the white fabric. My place is here... with my people... _Boromir thought, a feeling of great despondency rising in his heart._

He looked back down. Faramir stood there, watching his brother with tear-filled eyes. And Boromir knew that his eyes were glistening also.

"Remember today, little brother," Boromir said, swallowing hard to push the sorrow back.

Faramir gave the slightest of nods. Boromir urged his horse into a trot and left the city.

~*~

The third arrow plunged into him, and Boromir felt what little was left of his strength die. He fell to his knees, now struggling to take a simple breath.

The little ones... Pippin and Merry...

Boromir raised his head in time to see the Hobbits give one last valiant effort to take down the Uruk-Hai, to no avail. They were carried off, and Boromir-the Captain-General of Gondor, perhaps the greatest warrior Gondor had ever known-was powerless to rescue them.

His lungs felt constricted, and now he fought to breathe as the Uruk-Hai trooped past him, for all he was to them was the man who would soon be dead. And so it should be.

But then one of the Uruks stopped in front of him. Boromir looked up. It was the captain; the one who had fired the arrows that now were embedded inside of him.

Clenching his jaw against the agony blazing through his entire being, Boromir stared the Uruk straight in the eye. He would not show fear. He would die with honor, though he knew he had acted harshly and without nobility throughout the journey.

This was his last stand. His last chance to redeem himself, even if only slightly.

The Uruk-Hai drew back the bowstring, a self-satisfied sneer on its hideous face.

Boromir braced himself for the pain that would no doubt come.

Before the arrow flew, a shout echoed through Amon Hen. Seconds later, Aragorn, the last person Boromir would have expected to come to his aid, was on top of the Uruk.

Boromir's last reserves of adrenaline faded, and he fell back among the protruding roots of a tree. He heard the battle raging now, yet he found he did not want to know how it turned out.

As he lay there, thoughts of his family whirled through his head.

_"Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser men. But you... you are strong. "_

Oh, Father, Boromir thought, as though he could speak to Denethor over such great distances, while he stood upon the threshold of Death. _You were wrong. I am not strong. I am not strong of heart or will; I have physical power, yes, but I am weak. So weak..._

Faramir... Faramir was the one who could have done it. His heart was resolute. He would not have fallen to the temptations of Isildur's Bane, oh, no...

_"If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead."_

Boromir knew Faramir should have been the one to go. He had known it even on that fateful day.

_I'm sorry, Faramir... I'm so, so sorry... because of my foolishness, you have lost the one man you looked up to. You should not have admired me so, little brother..._

Suddenly, Aragorn was beside him. Boromir saw the terror in the Ranger's eyes, the way his hands twitched in his urgent need to heal. But there was nothing that could heal Boromir, son of Denethor, now.

"They took the little ones," Boromir gasped. The effort it took to speak sent daggers into his heart. It was not long now... not long at all...

"Hold still," Aragorn told him, reaching out for the arrows.

Death is coming. Not even Aragorn's healing hands will stop that. Boromir knew it in his heart to be true.

"Frodo... where is Frodo?" Boromir asked, desperate to find out the fate of the one he had failed.

"I let Frodo go." Aragorn's voice was ever so quiet, and he kept his eyes down, on the grave wounds inflicted upon Boromir.

"Then you did what I could not," Boromir said, feeling tears stinging at the corner of his vision. "I tried to take the Ring from him." He could hardly speak now, but he had to. He had to make certain that Aragorn knew what he had done... and hopefully find it in his heart to be the better man, to forgive Boromir his wrongs. The man of Gondor wanted that more than anything. To know he had been forgiven, even if only by one being.

"The Ring is beyond our reach now," Aragorn replied softly.

"Forgive me," Boromir whispered, the plea in his voice clear. "I did not see. I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir. You fought bravely," Aragorn said, his voice firm. "You have kept your honor."

_My... honor... _Boromir's thoughts were broken, yet crystal-clear in his mind. _So I... have... received redemption..._

Aragorn was starting to remove the arrows from Boromir's chest. With the last ounce of strength he had left, Boromir pushed his hand aside.

"Leave it," Boromir whispered. Aid is futile, he realized that. He only wished he could help Aragorn to realize the same. "It is over."

Then, of a sudden, all the anguish and fear Boromir had felt throughout this journey from Rivendell poured out. "The race of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin."

And then he could see Minas Tirith, a ruined, burning shell of the glory it once was. All of its residents are dead, and he can even see Faramir's lifeless eyes staring up at him. A great surge of love for his younger brother wells up inside of Boromir, along with a deep yearning for his people. To see those he loves one last time... and agony to know he will never see them again.

Aragorn's voice jarred him back into reality. I do not know what strength is in my blood," he vowed, and his very tone spoke of one making an unbreakable oath. "But I swear to you. I will not let the White City fall... nor our people fail."

"Our people," Boromir gasped. The pain was becoming ever greater. He would not last long. "Our people," he repeated. He knew that this man, this noble and strong-willed man, would be king. And he realized he would have it no other way. _Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king. _How wrong he had been. So wrong, in that and all other things...

Boromir reached out, seeking blindly for his sword. Aragorn brought it over and laid it in his hand. Boromir wrapped his fingers in a fist around the hilt, and pressed it to his chest. He would meet Death with his blade in his hand.

Boromir needed to say a few last words. He had earned Aragorn's forgiveness, and he needed to show the man that he took back everything he had ever said... all the spiteful words and harsh remarks.

"I would have followed you, my brother..." He had to pause, to draw in several shuddering breaths. The end was near...

"My captain..." Aragorn had tears welling up in his eyes, and Boromir's were as well. He felt no shame of it.

"My king."

Darkness began to encroach upon his vision, and Boromir no longer fought it. The last image in his mind was his brother... his true brother... Boromir sent up a wish to whatever deity might be listening for courage, happiness, and strength to be bestowed upon Faramir.

His heartbeats slowed to the point of stopping. And everything went dark.

_Remember me, little brother._  
_  
_


End file.
